


raise it up

by lasciel



Series: Rabbit Heart [1]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered Mental States, Anal Plug, Barebacking, Choking, Come Inflation, Dirty Talk, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Knotting, Lactation Kink, M/M, Marking, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rough Sex, Small Penis, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciel/pseuds/lasciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack sighs, and even that sound manages to convey his amusement loud and clear. “Oh, Rhysie. I wish I knew what you want from me.” He bites playfully into the skin on Rhys' back, laughs when he says, “But I don't speak stupid.”</p><p>Okay, enough is enough, and even Rhys' mouth can only be turned off for so long. He slaps the desk with his fist — his left one, because he enjoys being in one piece — and shouts, “<i>Please</i> stop talking and get on with it already!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	raise it up

**Author's Note:**

> a/b/o fic, for [renqa](http://knifetwisters.tumblr.com/): Happy Birthday! May this new year of your life treat you well & be filled with glorious sinning <3
> 
> Mpreg & lactation are talked about, Vaughn/Rhys/Yvette is implied towards the end. The Non-Consensual Voyeurism is the closest tag I could find to what happens in this fic, but it's not as severe as it sounds. 
> 
> Title taken from the 'Florence and The Machine' song by the same name.
> 
>  **edit:** now with [fanart](http://realityphobia.tumblr.com/post/155282098741/a-doodle-based-on-ledgems-incredible-raise-it) from the wonderful and talented and brilliant [realityphobia](http://realityphobia.tumblr.com/), thank you so so much! <3

Rhys enters Jack's office, and he's barely at the stairs leading up to the massive desk when Jack calls, “Lose the pants and get your ass over here!”

Despite his nervousness that is enough to spark a very familiar annoyance inside of him. “Hello, to you, too,” he mutters, striding up the glowing stairs before stopping in front of Jack's desk.

Jack's typing furiously, and Rhys is pretty sure he hasn't even looked at Rhys once yet. Which, sure. It's _Jack_. But it's also kind of typical, dickish alpha behaviour, and Rhys is still kinda sore from three days ago, when he was pressed against the cool windowpane behind the desk, Jack hot like a sun against his back. He won't deny that it's a nice memory, but still. Sore. Kinda stressed because they've run out of pills and Yvette still hasn't contacted him about that, and he probably shouldn't even _think_ about The Pills right now or he'll just end up blurting something out that will get him and his friends killed painfully and messily. Rhys fidgets. He looks out at Elpis, absently wondering if Chatt from Requisition is still floating around Helios' orbit.

The clicking stops, and the office suddenly falls awfully silent. “Are you trying to make me mad, princess? You must be, because for some reason you're still wearing pants.” Jack's staring at him, but it's not actually a good thing. 

Now that Rhys is paying closer attention, there's a tenseness to Jack's posture, a deep frown twisting his lifelike mask. He holds Jack's piercing gaze, but only barely, and his hands move down on their own. The typing resumes, and Jack's attention fixates back on the screen in front of him. Rhys swallows a sigh of relief. He kicks off his shoes slowly before stepping out of his trousers, awkwardly holding them in his hands. “Where should I...?”

Jack groans. “Why are you making this so difficult? Just drop them, I don't care.”

Rhys frowns. Sure, the floor looks clean, and is probably spotless compared to Vaughn's and his apartment, but... 

“God _damn it_.”

The trousers drop to the floor, and Rhys doesn't even check if Jack's anger is directed at the screen or at himself. He takes a step to the side, intending to move around the desk and to Jack.

“Pants, Rhysie, please don't make me repeat myself,” Jack says quietly, voice low and tightly controlled.

Hearing Jack using the word 'please' is actually kind of very alarming, and Rhys hastily gets rid of his pants as well, losing his left sock in the process. Up this close Jack looks almost _frazzled_ , clothes rumpled and hair wild, as if he's repeatedly run his fingers through it. Rhys wonders when Jack last got some rest, how long he's been holed up in his office already. “What about the arm?” he asks quietly, and his metal fingers flex at his side. The temperature in the office is carefully regulated, pleasant, but still Rhys shivers at the feeling of it on his naked skin. Asking about his prosthesis is an ingrained reflex at this point, despite Rhys' best efforts to curb that.

Jack looks at him again, frowning now. His eyes travel from Rhys' face to his right arm, back to Rhys' face.

Rhys bites his lip, keeping himself very still under the alpha's scrutiny, unnerved and unhappy with himself for letting anyone make him feel this unsure about himself. Again.

Jack's long fingers tap on the armrests, then he parts his legs, and Rhys steps between them without having to be prompted, like the good little omega he apparently is. The fingers tug on his tie, and Rhys swallows a wary sigh, bending slightly so Jack can undo it.

His vest and shirt follow it onto the floor next to the chair shortly after, and Jack's hands rest heavily on his hips.

Despite the uneasiness sitting low in his stomach, Rhys can feel his traitorous cock twitch. Jack isn't even _doing_ anything, but his attention is enough, combined with his scent, intense and heady, surrounding Rhys like a tangible cloud. Jack definitely hasn't left the office in a while, has probably worn these clothes for days now and Rhys still _wants_ him, so much it almost makes him angry.

At least it took Jack longer than the others to get weird about his metal arm, Rhys thinks dejectedly, already moving his left hand up to help detach it.

Suddenly Jack turns him around, and Rhys ends up bend over the desk, both hands spread out on its smooth surface. Jack's leans over him, breathes against his ear. “You're gonna need it, sweetheart.”

Rhys knows he must look like an idiot right now, mouth open and eyes wide, but what wouldn't he give to be able to see Jack's expression in this moment. Something like happiness expands his chest, amazing and unbelievably dangerous.

Jack urges Rhys' hips back against his own, nose pressed against the back of Rhys' neck. He inhales deeply, one hot palm splayed out over the skin of Rhys' stomach.

Blood rushes to his head, followed quickly by nervousness again. Teeth graze his neck and he gasps.

“Still not pregnant,” Jack growls quietly, his nails dragging slowly over Rhys' middle.

Of course not, Rhys thinks disbelievingly. It's been only three days since they last fucked. omega biology might work pretty quickly, but he's not an _instant printer_ , even if he wasn't taking— Rhys bites his lip before he can finish the thought. He really needs to stop thinking about that or at this rate he'll end up saying something he really shouldn't.

Jack licks a long stripe up his neck, his hands leaving Rhys' body. “No rest for the wicked, I guess.”

The sound of a belt being undone, and Rhys groans silently, pressing his forehead against the surface of the desk. So much about his hope of not getting fucked within an inch of his life. Again.

Jack presses a finger into him in the next instant, and he hisses, hands curling into fists.

“Very nice,” Jack purrs. He leans his weight more fully on Rhys' back. “Can't help but notice you didn't prepare yourself for me. Do you want to really feel it this time when I fuck into you?”

Rhys shudders, biting his lip. He probably should have come up with a good reason for not preparing himself before entering Jack's office. One that is not: I was kind of hoping we wouldn't be having sex today.

Jack chuckles. “Alright, that's not the reason.” He makes a thoughtful sound, breathing warm and hot against Rhys' ear. Slips another finger into Rhys' as if in an afterthought.

Rhys exhales loudly, acutely aware of Jack's clothes against his back, the warming desk against his chest. It's kind of hard to ignore that he's only wearing one sock while Jack is still fully dressed. What _is_ it with alphas and their constant need for dominance in everything they do?

Jack's voice drops even lower. “Do you need the big, bad alpha to take care of you?” His other palm wanders leisurely over Rhys' side, flattening itself against his filling cock. “Is your independent omega routine just an act, Rhysie?”

It's staggering how one man can be so infuriatingly _arrogant_. Rhys bristles, even as disbelieving laughter bubbles up inside of his throat. The fingers inside of him twist, and he groans instead, feeling his stupid body react, eagerly preparing itself for Jack's cock.

“You getting yourself nice and slick for me?” Jack adds another finger, stabbing them in as deep as possible and wrenching a moan from Rhys' throat.

He doesn't know if it's the stimulation inside of him or the rough palm pressing against his cock or Jack's words or Jack's smell, slowly permeating his skin. Or maybe it's just an unholy combination of it all. But he feels his nerves calming, his instincts taking over and pushing his rational thoughts to the side. 

Rhys was always better at acting than thinking anyway. Letting go is almost frighteningly easy, and he pushes himself back against the intrusion, then forward again into the palm on his cock, pleasuring himself on the means the alpha grants him.

Jack hums, a deep sound that makes goosebumps raise up on Rhys' skin. But it's not enough, and his movements gain a desperate edge. His nipples are hard against the desk, sensitive from the friction. He whines, forces himself to stop moving, shivers. Like this it's almost impossible to tilt his head enough to the side to be able to look at Jack, but he tries anyway, twisting his body until the strain turns almost painful. He manages to catch a glimpse out of the corners of his eyes of Jack's grinning mouth, and he presses himself back on the fingers inside of him, beseeching.

“Aw, you were doing so well.” Jack chuckles, and his thumb draws slow circles on the skin around Rhys' hole. “Anything I can do for you, sweetheart?”

The conversational tone is enough to bring Rhys back down, making him grit his teeth. He lets his forehead thud against the desk, digs his toes against the floor. “Please,” he presses out, fingers flexing uselessly.

Jack leans his weight fully on Rhys' back, pressing the air right out of his lungs. Both of his hands move to the inside of Rhys' legs, spreading them, and Rhys wants to curse and wail at the loss of the fingers inside of him. 

A gust of breath on his neck. “Please what? I think you need to attend one of our coaching seminars, because then you'd know that the first step to realising your goals is learning to articulate them.” There's amusement hiding in his voice, and Rhys wishes he was strong-willed enough to just get his things and _leave_. He can almost imagine the surprised look on the alpha's face. There're probably not many people who've walked out on Handsome Jack before, and maybe then he would stop being such a fucking—

Jack rubs his heavy cock against the cleft of his ass, and Rhys moans loudly, twisting on the desk in a desperate attempt to get it inside of him.

Jack sighs, and even that sound manages to convey his amusement loud and clear. “Oh, Rhysie. I wish I knew what you want from me.” He bites playfully into the skin on Rhys' back, laughs when he says, “But I don't speak stupid.”

Okay, enough is enough, and even Rhys' mouth can only be turned off for so long. He slaps the desk with his fist — his left one, because he enjoys being in one piece — and shouts, “ _Please_ stop talking and get on with it already!”

Teeth sink into his flesh once more, higher up on his back, close enough to his neck to cause sparks behind his eyes, gone again before he can wonder too much about it.

Jack lets up, leaving the skin smarting. He slaps Rhys' ass with an open palm, making Rhys jump and hiss with the force of it. “One of these days I'm going to take the time to spank you until you fall apart,” he growls quietly, but before the words can register to Rhys as a threat, Jack finally starts to push into him.

Rhys groans, the stretch bordering on painful even with the slickness inside of him.

Jack is relentless, holding Rhys in place and making him take inch by maddening inch of his cock, until Rhys is on his toes, legs bend awkwardly, his entire body shaking with the feeling of _too much_ , _too fast_. He hisses out a breath, and tenses, convinced Jack can't possible go any deeper without tearing him apart.

The fingers on his thighs dig into his skin for a moment, and then Jack makes a quiet, almost soothing noise in the back of his throat. Fingernails drag over the skin around his hole, leisurely tracing over where Jack's cock is stretching him open. “Fuck,” Rhys whispers, voice trembling.

Jack hums. “That's the idea, babe. You just need to let me in.” He presses one finger against Rhys' opening, almost as if he's considering pushing it in alongside his cock.

The thought makes Rhys moan, his own cock untouched but dripping already.

“Come on, Rhysie, relax,” Jack drawls. He stops teasing at Rhys' hole, moves the hand around to touch his stomach again. His voice drops even lower. “Let me give it to you. You want my knot, you want to be filled, don't you?”

The hand presses against his soft stomach, and Rhys keens, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open.

Jack sinks into Rhys fully, balls hot and heavy against his ass, and he trembles, the stretch right on the tantalising line between pain and pleasure, a dizzying mixture of both. The fingernails drag across is back, probably leaving even more marks on his body, and he arches into them, craving _more_.

“Better hold on tight, princess,” Jack advices him quietly, and Rhys makes a desperate grab for the edge of the desk, long past caring if he'll leave dents on its surface.

If he thought Jack was relentless before, he was very wrong. Jack's thrusting into him with abandon, brimming with energy, and Rhys' toes curl helplessly on the floor, clothed and bare ones equally unable to find any footing. Absently, he's grateful that the desk is apparently bolted down — he's sure otherwise they'd have already toppled it over. Then he doesn't think anymore, because Jack changes the angle, hitting Rhys prostate with every thrust as if he has something to prove. Rhys is fairly sure he must be babbling by now, pleading with the alpha to give him more, more _more_ , but Jack places him right on the edge and leaves him there, unable to do anything but let himself be taken.

“You going to be a good little omega now?” Jack asks, voice rough and breathless. The palm he has still pressed against Rhys' stomach shifts lower, so close to brushing against Rhys' cock he could _cry_. “You finally going to do what you were made for?”

“Yes!” Rhys nods eagerly, trying to get the hand onto his cock, trying to get Jack's cock deeper into him, and the friction against his nipples is too much now, unbearable — just like the knot he can feel at his opening, teasing against it but never pushing inside.

Jack remains silent, apart from his loud breaths, stroking over Rhys' middle almost thoughtfully, as if doubting him.

That thought expands in his mind like a thundercloud, awful and terrifying. He _needs_ Jack, they are so good together, he can't lose the alpha — _his_ alpha. Something eases inside of his chest then, and he's finally free of whatever stupid thing was still holding him back. “ _Anything_ ,” he promises desperately, voice thready and high.

The rough palm closes around his cock, engulfing it, and it's enough, making Rhys come with a shout. He's still shaking with the intensity of his orgasm when something nudges at his lips. He blinks dazedly until his eyes focus on Jack's fingers in front of his face.

“Be a good boy and make yourself useful,” Jack says quietly, voice tense, far away from a request, and Rhys opens his mouth without thinking about it. Two fingers press down on his tongue, the thumb slipping underneath his chin, urging him to tilt his head up. He does, letting Jack trickle his own spill back into him, diligently sucking the alpha's fingers clean when they push in further, only just skirting his gag reflex. He pushes his hips back against Jack, hums at the feel of the thick cock stretching him, grazing his teeth over the fingers in his mouth.

The alpha growls, pulling out of him in the next instant, and Rhys' distraught wail is cut off when hands urge him to turn onto his back, ass right at the edge of the desk. He stares up at Jack's face looming above him, grin showing teeth, eyes wild and bright.

Jack pushes his cock against Rhys' gaping hole, and Rhys' curls his left hand over Jack's shoulder, his stronger one gripping the desk. Jack pushes his legs apart again, and Rhys crosses his ankles behind the alpha's back, letting them dig in, urging him back inside. For a breath Jack looks like he wants to say something, but then he just growls again, pushing back inside of Rhys, keeps pushing, finally giving Rhys his knot.

Rhys shouts, nothing articulate, the sound torn right out of him. It's too large, too much, awful, _perfect_ , and he digs his heels into Jack's back, his nails into Jack's shoulder, desperate to keep the alpha inside of him.

“Just one... more time,” Jack says through gritted teeth, sweet beading at the corners of his mask, dripping from his chin onto Rhys's body.

Rhys stares at him with wide eyes, croaks a pitiful, “ _No_.”

But Jack pulls out once more, slow and almost painful, and Rhys' mouth falls open in a silent scream. His breath hitches wetly when Jack's cock slides back into him, and Jack's hold on his hips tightens even further when the knot doesn't sink back into him, too large already, and Rhys whines, miserable and inconsolable.

“Hold on,” Jack hisses, eyes gleaming, looking almost frantic as he pulls Rhys further down the desk, positioning his hips— 

The knot breaches him again, hot and thick, and Rhys' eyes cross with the feeling of being stretched so unbelievingly wide.

Jack's hips stutter forwards once, twice, and then he comes with an almost painful sounding groan, emptying himself inside of Rhys, filling him.

Endorphins rush through his system, and Rhys sighs happily, patting Jack's shoulder with the last of his strength before he lets go, placing his palm on his stomach. He blinks at the relaxed face of his alpha, and then his eyes fall shut. 

Jack groans again after a while, complaining about sweaty clothes, but that's not his problem and nothing he could help his alpha with, and so he drifts in blissful nothingness, listening to the deep breaths, imagines that he can feel his stomach filling with warmth. 

The sound of rustling clothes accompanied by muttered curses. “Didn't really think this through, huh.”

Rhys forces his eyes open slightly, making a soft sound, just in case his alpha needs him— but he just shakes his head, patting the hand lying on Rhys' stomach. “Just talking to myself, princess.”

He hums, closes his eyes again. It doesn't matter that the surface underneath his back is hard, uncomfortable to the marks there or that he can't really feel his legs anymore, still wrapped around his alpha's middle. He's nothing but a body right now, free of worries, with no problems in the entire world.

The sound of keys being hit, and he smiles to himself, proud of his hard-working alpha, and of himself for being the one chosen by him, by somebody so powerful. He can feel himself on the brink of a nap, sees them both together, himself round with child—

Rhys swallows a gasp. He inhales, long and deep, but it doesn't help, the air is thick with the smell of sex, Jack and _them_. Slowly, he brings his right arm to his side, keeping his eyes closed. He pokes himself with his metallic fingers, hoping to lighten the wool dulling his brain. 

Jack rotates his hips with a grumble, shifting the knot inside of Rhys, and he slips under again, unsettling thought already forgotten when he blinks his eyes open once more.

There's nothing to look at but Jack, but Rhys doesn't mind, taking his time to really take in the alpha's appearance. The tense lines have vanished from his posture, and he's not frowning anymore, merely focused on his work, supporting himself over Rhys with one arm. His hair looks even wilder than before, parts of it sweaty and pressed against Jack's skin. His mouth is very red, one corner of it tilted upwards slightly. He looks... content, almost, and something settles inside of Rhys' chest, sweet and bright.

He did that. He made the alpha look like this. Jack could have picked anyone on Helios, but from all of them he wanted _Rhys_. He stares happily at Jack's face, pushes his hips down a bit, hums when Jack's knot pulls at his opening, thick and unrelenting.

Jack's eyes turn back to him, one brow arched high on his forehead. “Something on my face?” he asks, huskily and amused.

Rhys lifts his right arm up, carefully curls his metallic fingers around the nape of Jack's neck, mindful of their strength. The eyebrow climbs even higher, but Jack lets himself be pulled down, supporting himself above Rhys with both palms on either side of him. Rhys stares at him for a bit longer, fascinated by the gleam in Jack's eyes. He knows he's smiling, probably dopey and looking like an idiot, but he doesn't have it in himself to care. 

All his worries are distant, belonging to somebody else, and his brain to mouth filter has never been more turned off than in this moment. He feels _amazing_. “Wouldn't know if there was, hm?” he answers softly, and then he leans up slightly, pointedly licking over the clasp on Jack's chin holding the mask in place, savouring the taste of the alphas' sweat in his mouth.

Jack exhales loudly, disbelievingly, just long enough for Rhys to begin to wonder if he did something wrong. A chuckle vibrates between them then, turning louder and louder until Jack is almost shaking with the force of it.

Rhys digs his heels into Jack's back, riding it out, amazed at the expression on Jack's face: eyes closed, grinning widely. It changes him, makes him look younger, and Rhys can feel himself blushing again, smile turning downright _sappy_.

Warm, rough palms curl around his neck, engulfing it nearly completely, and Rhys swallows reflexively, shuddering at the pressure of the hold. Jack's looking at him with half open eyes, still grinning but contemplative now.

“You're an original piece of work, sweetheart, aren't you,” Jack says slowly, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh underneath Rhys' jaw, tilting his head up. 

Before Rhys can even begin to figure out a possible reply to that, Jack's mouth presses against his, effectively taking any rational thought with it. Rhys moans, long and deep, cut off when Jack plunges his tongue into him. The pressure on his throat increases, and he moves his left hand up to grip Jack's hair, the fingers of his other arm clenching and unclenching on Jack's shoulder, not even with enough force to wrinkle Jack's shirt. It's not about stopping Jack— that notion never even crosses Rhys' mind. He's offered himself up to Jack long ago, and now it's only about wanting to hang on for whatever the alpha wants to do to him. _With_ him.

Jack growls, and Rhys swallows the sound greedily, wanting to collect it within himself, add it to his ever growing collection. He touches Jack's tongue hesitantly with his own, and Jack tilts his head up even further, coaxes him into his own mouth. The gesture leaves Rhys light-headed, overwhelmed, and he's sure by now his nails are digging into Jack's scalp, but he's unable to extend to it the same level of control he has on his metallic arm.

Rhys barely notices when Jack's knot eases out of him, focused entirely on getting enough air into his lungs, trying to stave off the encroaching blackness at the edges of his vision. The heady feeling travels through his stomach, collecting below it and his cock twitches between them. He whines, eyes half closed and unable to escape Jack's piercing gaze.

They separate with a loud noise, and Rhys gasps open mouthed, lips stinging. His cheeks are wet with tears, with his own and Jack's spit.

“Should take a picture of you right now,” Jack says absently, thumbs stroking over Rhys' Adam's apple, “Put them all over Helios so I can enjoy the view even while I have to deal with the meatbags who have the audacity to waste my precious air.”

“Please,” Rhys manages to press out, his chest aching, desperate now for air, still not doing anything to stop the alpha.

Jack looks at him for a moment longer, and then the hands leave his throat, wandering down his heaving sides thoughtfully.

Breathing has never been this intoxicating before, and Rhys fills his lungs eagerly with air, with Jack's scent, even more intense now than before. He has to force himself to let go when Jack leans back, bites his lip as to not make a sound in protest. Rhys should _really_ work on getting his braincells working again, because Jack will probably kick him out, now that they're done, and Jack doesn't have a lot of patience for anything he perceives as 'needy omega bullshit'. Rhys used to be good at this, repressing his instincts at will, but that was Before Jack.

And with his body aching and sore, his skin marked by the alpha's temper, they have well and truly reached the After Jack part of his life.

Rhys untangles is legs from behind Jack's back, swearing quietly at their unresponsiveness. He manages to raise himself up onto his forearms, but Jack's hands on his hips stop him from going further. He blinks at Jack, but Jack's attention is on Rhys' ass— Two fingers slip into him again, and he hisses, jerking away from the intrusion but unable to escape it.

Jack clicks his tongue at him. “Look at how wasteful you're being. Do you even know how many people I've got slobbering for even a drop of my precious come?” His thumb collects the semen leaking from Rhys' opening before pressing it back into him, joining the other fingers already inside, and Rhys whines, embarrassed and fascinated equally. “Of course I've got some samples stashed away in one secret facility or another, 'cause you never know.” He throws Rhys a quick look, and Rhys nods dumbly, his mind blank. “And here you are, just mindlessly spilling it onto my floor.” His voice drops even lower, and he frowns, eyes mere slits. “Guess I'll have to teach you to show some gratitude for my gifts, Rhysie.”

Rhys swallows, throat dry and rough from Jack's hands. There's a weird intensity to the alpha, one that wasn't there before, and it makes his nerves prickle even while it doesn't do anything to diminish the low-burning state of arousal he's still in.

The alpha pats his hip, and Rhys stands on shaky legs, suspicious and confused by the change to their almost-routine. At least it's not exactly a hardship to get fucked by _the_ Handsome Jack. If he wants to go another round, Rhys is totally up for it.

The chair doesn't make a sound when Jack lets himself fall into it, but Jack does, a long groan that makes Rhys shiver.

The alpha got rid of his grey jacket at some point, and his trousers are open, just enough to reveal that he's not wearing anything underneath. Rhys inhales shakily, stares at Jack's cock, dark, glistening and curved — still fully erect. He swallows a small sound, and his ass clenches on empty air, sore and leaking— he almost curses, hastily presses his thighs together, remembering Jack's warning. Hopes the alpha didn't notice, but Jack chuckles.

“How about I fill that hole for you, babe,” he drawls, spreading his legs, and drawing Rhys closer with one hand on his hips.

Rhys flushes a bright red, letting himself be turned around. _You can do this_ , he repeats to himself as he lowers himself onto the alpha's lap. It's not that different from a fucking marathon during a heat, right? Except... even though his last heat was a while ago, he _still_ remembers how beautifully easy everything was then, tinted in bright and warm colours. Right now there's nothing to mask the harsh truth or the filthy, _obscene_ sound when Jack's cock slides into him again, loud and wet. If he didn't need both arms to steady himself right now, he'd gladly hide his face with them.

Jack bottoms out, and Rhys hisses at all that contact against his sensitive skin of his ass. “Aw, you sore, princess? Want me to call somebody else to take your place?” he asks, fingers tracing over the inside of Rhys' thighs.

And Rhys _knows_ the alpha is only messing with him, it's obvious, really. But that doesn't stop the growl coming from his mouth, doesn't stop him from grinding his ass against Jack, even when that presses Jack's clothes into his skin, aggravating it further.

Jack hums appreciatively, mouthing over the black tattoo on Rhys' neck, and Rhys arches into it, craving more of the buzz that simple contact sends through him. “Not a team player, huh. Shame on you.”

Rhys almost snorts, but he twists around instead, staring at the grinning alpha with open disbelief. “ _You_ wanted me to stop being close with my best friends!” he reminds him in an accusatory tone.

Jack sniffs disdainfully, rolls his eyes, “Well, it's fucking unnatural, your closeness. That's not my fault.” He places both palms on Rhys' chest, presses him against the alpha's front. “And I'm not exactly the sharing type, sweetheart,” he adds, voice deep and boding no argument.

Rhys bites his lip, his head thudding against the back of the chair. alphas and their ridiculous possessive streaks. Jack and his almost astounding lack of self-awareness, his sheer _audacity_.

Jack cups his half-erect cock in one palm, coos, “At least you agree with me, buddy.”

His startled laugh ends up in a moan when Jack presses his thumb onto the wet tip of his cock. “Are you seriously—“ He can't even make himself say it.

The alpha shushes him, stroking over his filling cock with more force than before. “Quiet now, Rhysie, I'm talking with my little buddy here.

 _Little_. Rhys bites the inside of his cheek, scowls. His cock is perfectly normal, average-sized. For an omega. But with Jack's large palm curved behind, and Jack's thumb pressed against it, it looks _tiny_. He'll never forgive nature for fucking him over like this, for building him up tall if not imposing, making his face angular instead of soft-looking — only to then completely ruin it all by deciding Rhys would be an omega instead of the powerful alpha _he knows_ he should be. 

It's unfair, that's what it is, and he looks for a moment longer, his face running hot before he turns his head, staring forlornly into Jack's office. The alpha's cock is hard inside of him, so thick even after he just thoroughly fucked Rhys, and somehow that makes him feel even more inadequate.

Jack chuckles, and Rhys shudders, biting his lip harder. He takes Rhys' earlobe between his teeth, pulling on it playfully. “Don't pout, babe. It's a pretty little thing.” He presses his other hand to Rhys' head, making him lean against Jack's shoulder again, forcing him to either close his eyes or to stare at the picture the alpha's presenting him with. “It suits you,” he adds huskily, curling his fingers into a fist around Rhys' cock, and Rhys moans, cock dripping.

Rhys doesn't want to be easy, not for Jack, not for anyone. But it's so tempting to stop thinking about something that he can't change anyway, especially while he's still feeling mellow after just having been knotted and apparently well on his way to being knotted again. He nuzzles at Jack's hair, inhaling his scent. Before the alpha can accuse him of cuddling, and because he seemed to genuinely enjoy it earlier, Rhys snaps his hips forward into Jack's hold, grinds himself back onto Jack's cock.

The alpha's voice is a low rumble. “That's the spirit. Take what you want.”

His words shiver down Rhys' spine, and he's only too happy to oblige. Jack's fist opens and closes in tandem with his thrusts, and Rhys groans, heat pooling in his cock. A hand grips his hair, tilting his head away from Jack's shoulder, and then the alpha's tongue drags over his port, slow and with enough force to make him see stars, drawing a shaky moan from his lips.

Jack chuckles darkly against the wet skin around the port. “That'll never get old.” He tightens his fist around Rhys' cock, placing his other hand below Rhys' navel, pressing down _hard_.

Rhys is taken aback by the feeling of it, and his body arches forward, cock spurting into Jack's palm. He falls boneless against the alpha, his mouth open, sucking in air loudly.

The soiled hand moves up, this time to Jack's face, his voice thoughtful. “You running dry on me already, princess?” 

Rhys stares dumbly as the alpha licks his hand clean, eyes heated on Rhys' face. The damp hand curls around his throat then, and he sucks Jack's tongue greedily into his mouth when the alpha leans in. It's uncoordinated and messy, and Rhys moans into Jack's mouth. It turns into a shriek when the palm moves back to fist his soft cock, squeezing his sensitive flesh. He brings both hands down, wanting to push the touch away.

Jack holds on, and tears prickle at the corners of Rhys' eyes. It's too much, far too soon. “Jack, I can't— _please_.”

The alpha sighs, sounding miffed. “I'm sure I can squeeze another one out of you.” But he lets go, and Rhys exhales in relief when cool air hits his cock. Fingers twist his nipples in the next instant, and he groans, senses in overload. He covers Jack's hands with his own again. “Too much,” he presses out between his teeth. “I really _can't_ —“

Jack sucks on his neck again, just below the tattoo, hands wandering down to Rhys' spread thighs. He's being weirdly quiet, and Rhys shivers, trying to twist around, to look at his face.

“Up,” he alpha orders curly, and Rhys rushes to obey him, ignoring the numerous protests of his body.

He swallows a hiss when Jack's cock slips out of him, only to let out a surprised gust of breath when he's pushed against the desk again. A thumb pushes into him, pulling at his sore opening, and he whines. His fingers are splayed out on the smooth surface before him, his muscles tense, fighting against the instinct to twist away.

“You're happy, aren't you, Rhysie?” Jack asks him slowly, pushing his cock inside again, thumb rubbing around the stretched hole.

Rhys concentrates on breathing, his skin tingling, legs shaking.

“I'm not talking about this exact moment, because I've never met anyone who _wasn't_ happy while I was fucking them.” His hands move to Rhys' thighs, spreading his legs wider apart. “I mean in general.”

He manages to nod, eyes screwed shut. He doesn't really know what Jack's getting at, but he feels on edge, wired to the alpha's strange mood.

Jack hums, his fingers flexing on Rhys' skin. “I read somewhere that your kind is really susceptible to stress, but that can't be the problem, right?” This time he doesn't seem to expect an answer, continues thrusting into Rhys with growing strength. “I promoted you into a pretty comfortable position, and even promoted your weird friends in case you were worrying your stupid little omega brain over them.”

He _really_ needs to pay attention to Jack's words, right _now_ , but then Jack aims for his prostate, again and again, and pressure builds inside of his aching cock. And just like that, the thought is gone, and Rhys' cheeks are wet, his body trembling.

One of the alpha's palms curls around the front of his throat, tilting his head back and remaining there, a restricting presence.

“So why,” Jack hisses into his ear, “aren't you fucking pregnant yet?”

The answer to that question is already lying heavy on his tongue, but then Jack sinks his teeth into Rhys' shoulder, rubbing his knot against Rhys' opening. He can't take it so quickly again, he's too sensitive, it's going to break him, he _needs_ it.

The alpha hisses out a breath, pushes his knot into Rhys once more, and he falls apart with a sob.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because when he next blinks his eyes open, he's seated back on the alpha's lap, his back against a still clothed chest. His arms are pressed against the armrests, and his legs stretched out over the desk. Fingernails are slowly dragging over his thighs, up and down, and he watches, fascinated and not really fully there yet. For some reason he's only wearing one sock, and that makes him smile. Warmth floods inside of him then, and he feels _swollen_. He groans, squirming on the length and knot stretching him wide open again.

The alpha licks over his temple, makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “Glad you decided to join the party again.”

Rhys calms again, hums, stretching his fingers over the armrests. “Comfy,” he decides, eyes heavy-lidded, thoughts muffled.

“You don't even know half of it.” His alpha chuckles, patting his hip. “I was just thinking how nice you'll look,” he muses, voice deep. He drags his fingernails over the back of Rhys' knees, leaving goosebumps behind. “Legs going on for miles...” Jack places his warm palms on Rhys' stomach, and his voice drops even lower. “Round with my kid.”

He shivers, staring at Jack's large hands, covering his stomach almost completely. He wants to place his own hands on Jack's, he _wants_ — Rhys digs his fingers into the armrests, glad the alpha can't see his face, can't see his conflicting emotions on it.

Jack moves one of his hands up, flicking Rhys' left nipple with a fingernail, and making him jerk. “Supposedly, breast milk is full of _all_ the good stuff, and gives you something almost like a rush,” he says thoughtfully, rubbing over the nipple until Rhys whines, presses himself back against Jack's chest to get away from the touch. 

A dark chuckle, the alpha's breath hot against his ear. “Guess I'll have to suck you dry until you cry, babe.”

Rhys swallows a groan, closes his eyes against the mental image: His belly round with child, the blue tattoo spanning over his swollen chest distorted, and Jack kneeling in front of him, greedily sucking on his nipple— 

He shivers, confused and mad at himself. Getting pregnant was only ever a vague _idea_ , something that might or might not happen in the future. But that was before Jack made himself into a permanent fixture in his life, and now here he is, sore and full with the alpha's come. The thought of his body changing so much is terrifying, but there's also something else, something warm and _excited_ taking him over, and he does what he always does when he's in way over his head.

He presses out a laugh, sounding awkward and forced even to his own ears. “If all you want is a milk bar, I know this really great place—“

Jack knocks his forehead against the back of Rhys' head, groans loudly. “Sometimes, when you run your stupid mouth like that I honestly don't know if I want to strangle you or...” He grunts, trailing off.

And Rhys _really_ wants to hear the rest of that sentence, because Jack sounds so frustrated and exasperated with himself, it makes him _wonder_. He opens his mouth to ask, but then he chokes on the words, because Jack sinks his teeth into his shoulder again, so close to the black tattoo and the spot that would spark a bond between them that it makes fire spread under his skin.

The alpha holds on for a long, excruciating, wonderful moment before licking over the abused skin with a pleased growl.

Rhys is trembling, his eyes screwed shut. He digs his fingers into the armrests again, letting out a small, pained sound when Jack trusts his hips up, knot loosening but his cock _still_ hard inside of Rhys. Twisting slowly around, he stares at Jack in disbelief and growing horror.

“What can I say, I’ve got a lot of pent up energy in me.”

Rhys frowns, taking in the smug grin on the alpha's face, slightly pained at the edges, the far too bright eyes. He forces his hips down, stilling Jack's movements.

Jack grunts. “I might also have taken something the people in Experimental whipped up.” His hands wander over Rhys' hips again, fingers splaying out there.

Suspiciously close to Rhys' cock, soft and very much out of order, and his frown turns into a scowl. Jack used himself as a guinea pig and now he's making Rhys suffer with him. He almost can't believe it.

Jack pinches the soft skin above his groin. “Oh no, princess, you don't get to give me that look.” He urges Rhys up again, turning him with rough hands towards the chair, making him places one knee on it and his hands on the top of the backrest for support.

He stares ahead in resignation, whining when Jack fucks into him again, unable to stop himself from clenching around the painful intrusion.

The alpha bites out a curse, one of his palms resting on Rhys' stomach. “This is all your fault,” Jack hisses between his teeth, “for making me work for it.” He starts up a slow pace, curses again. “I'm usually into it, but do you think you could stop squeezing my cock like a godamn _vice_?” His fingernails cut into Rhys' side, and he spits out, “ _Relax_.”

Rhys digs his fingers into the backrest, imagines Jack's neck in its place. “ _You_ relax,” he retorts weakly, legs shaking with exhaustion.

Jack laughs, a short and choked sound, thrusting into Rhys with an almost frantic focus, and Rhys howls when his prostate sends sparks through him again, his eyes tearing up.

He's going to die here, he's sure of it, because he can't take much more. He hopes Vaughn and Yvette will feel really bad for talking him into this in the first place, once they get his death notification.

Jack licks over his port again, and he gasps, his cheeks wet.

At least he gets to enjoy the pretty view of space while he dies.

* * *

Surprisingly, he doesn't die.

Or maybe he did, and the afterlife really is just this weird. 

He's naked on his alpha's lap, chest against chest, his right leg bent, pressed against Jack's side, the other one dangling over the armrest. His arms are lying uselessly between them, the fingers of his right hand fisted into Jack's shirt. He doesn't remember doing that, but he likes how well his golden fingers go with Jack's yellow shirt, and so he leaves them there. The knot is thick inside of him, and he knows if he concentrated on that a bit more, it would hurt. So he doesn't, keeps floating in blissful nothingness for a bit, listening to his alpha's breathing and the sounds of typing.

After a while Jack begins speaking with someone, his voice angry, the answering one sounding frightened. Rhys knows his alpha's ire isn't directed at him, and he inhales deeply, soaking in the smell of them. He stares down at himself, curiously eyeing the dark bruises on his chest, unevenly placed around his blue tattoo, adding to its pattern. He can't quite remember Jack biting him there either, but when he presses down on a particularly dark one close to his right nipple, it feels real enough. He pokes it again just to be sure.

His alpha rumbles something then, a deep, pleased noise. He shifts his hips, and the cock inside of Rhys pulses. 

Rhys leaves his right hand fisted in Jack's shirt, and places his left palm on his stomach, absently wondering if he's just imagining it or if it really does look swollen. He shivers suddenly, from exhaustion, the drying sweat on his skin or maybe from something else. He hunches his shoulders, pressing himself closer against his alpha, seeking his warmth.

The sound of typing stops, and then there's a hand on his hips, and the body underneath him shuffles to the side. Before he can complain about the unrest that makes the various aches of his body more difficult to ignore, the annoying movements stop, and something soft settles over his shoulders and back. He grabs for the sleeves dangling over his front sluggishly, realising that Jack slung his jacket over him. It warms quickly, smelling of his alpha, and he sighs softly, feeling so content he thinks it might make him burst.

The typing starts up again, interwoven by the calls his alpha makes, and Rhys basks in his presence, his commanding voice.

He dozes, only coming to himself when his alpha's voice raises, sounding genuinely mad at whoever the poor sod on the other line is. Rhys turns his head, presses his mouth to Jack's throat, wanting to calm him. He gets distracted then by the intoxicating taste of his alpha, and he licks up Jack's throat, ends up sucking on the edge of the mask, moaning at the sharp taste of sweat in his mouth.

The jaw under his mouth vibrates with a chuckle, and the call ends with the softest spoken threat Rhys has ever heard in his entire life.

He floats again, letting his alpha work while he nuzzles distractedly at the strong jawline. A warm palm strokes over his flank, and it's only because of that contact that Rhys actually pays attention to Jack's words.

“Fine, let him in, but tell him to make it _really_ quick.”

He presses his lips against his alpha's throat once more, for no better reason than that he can.

Jack's speaking with someone again, and it takes a long time until his frazzled brain registers that they're not alone any longer. He hides his frown in his alpha's shirt, unable to stop himself from whining softly when the scent of another alpha hits him.

He's unsettled, confused, unable to understand why Jack's just letting the threat get so close to them while they are both so vulnerable.

“That's close enough, Wallethead,” his alpha says slowly, severely.

“Of course, Sir, I apologise,” comes the almost grovelling reply, and the voice is more effective than a cold shower, throwing Rhys right back into harsh reality. Rhys turns his head very slowly, hoping that he's wrong— 

He's not.

On the steps leading up to Jack's desk is Vasquez, obviously staring at Rhys because their eyes meet for a second before Rhys presses his face into Jack's shirt again, thoughts falling over themselves.

Vasquez can't actually see anything, because the desk is between them, but he doesn't actually _need_ to see anything, does he? Rhys lost his clothes in front of the desk, and there's only Jack's jacket covering his upper body. He thinks about pressing his legs closer to himself, about maybe hiding them underneath the jacket, but they are both asleep, completely deaf to any commands. He's still knotted, and his ass is _throbbing_ around the painful stretch that holds him in place. Even with the air circulation, the smell of sex clings to them, threatening to choke Rhys.

And Vasquez is only a few steps away, probably taking in every detail, and already mentally going through a million ways he can make Rhys' life a living hell with this, because he's a _douchebag_.

He chances another glance over his shoulder, because he _never learns_ , manages to meet Vasquez' eyes _again_ , because of course he's still staring at Rhys. The jacket only covers Rhys' shoulders, and his neck feels very, very naked, despite the tattoo on it, _unprotected_ , and it's been a long time since he felt so unsettled by that.

For all he cares Jack and Vasquez are talking about a Vault or artificial weather or discussing their attire — it doesn't matter. He needs Vasquez gone, _now_ , from this office, from Helios, no, better yet: from his _life_.

“Jack,” he pleads quietly, but he might as well have screamed it, so loud does it sound to his own ears, and he can feel his face turning a bright red. If he could, he would fling himself out of the nearest airlock, save himself from this unbearably situation.

A palm curls around his bare throat, heavy and large, and Rhys relaxes slightly, automatically, the alarms ringing inside of his head suddenly muffled. “Alright, Wallethead. Enough ogling for one day, you can go now.”

Nothing for a moment, only the blood roaring in Rhys' ears and the proprietary hand on his neck, the only thing that keeps him from falling into pieces.

Jack's voice is very calm. “You can always leave via airlock if that's what you'd prefer.”

The sound of hastily retreating steps must be the best thing Rhys has heard in weeks. He presses his nose against Jack's shirt, wanting to fill his lungs with his scent, eliminating any trace of Vasquez'.

Jack strokes over his throat slowly, and only then does Rhys realise that he's shaking.

“Thought you were completely out of it,” Jack says quietly, and coming from Handsome Jack himself that might as well be an apology.

He tries to get himself under control again, desperately reaching for the buzz of endorphins, but that makes him only even more aware that he's really, really uncomfortable and aching all over.

Jack scratches his neck. “I take it you're still not a fan of Wallethead.”

Rhys is also _very_ grumpy. It's almost like Jack has forgotten that Vasquez tried to kill him. Or maybe he just thinks that it's not a big deal any longer, which is somehow even worse. “Wow, Jack. You really are just as smart as the stories promised,” he says tonelessly into Jack's shirt.

Fingers grip the back of his neck, shaking it slightly. “Now, now, sweetheart, don't be mean.” Jack chuckles. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that he's just a beta trying really hard to be something better?”

That certainly gets his attention. Rhys slowly lifts his head until he can look at Jack's face. “You are lying,” he says accusingly.

Jack's grin widens, and he places his other hand over his heart. “You wound me, Rhysie. No, I'm dead serious. Wallethead practically bathes himself in alpha hormones. I doubt it's healthy, but hey.” He shrugs. “I never wrote anything about forbidding my employees to poison themselves.”

He's actually speechless, something that doesn't happen very often, and something that only makes Jack's smirk even wider, insufferable. “What's up with the weird nickname?” he asks quickly.

“His hair,” Jack says, gesturing to his own for a breath, “is just as fake as his status as an alpha.”

Rhys blinks, tries to take that it.

Jack gives his neck one last squeeze before letting go. “Feel free to remind him of his days as a bald nobody in the mailroom if he gives you any shit.” He takes the jacket off of Rhys' back, placing it on the armrest. “I'm beginning to think I might have been too nice to him.”

Inside of Rhys, the knot finally begins to shrink, and he moves slowly, trying to get feelings back into his legs. He hisses at the needle stings this sends through them.

Jack begins to search for something behind Rhys' back, rummaging through his desk.

He pushes himself away from Jack slowly, and when the alpha doesn't stop him he stands up. Too quickly, and he grips the edge of the desk when dizziness washes over him. He glances at Jack's cock for a moment, dark, glistening, and finally, finally soft. He almost cries in relief. His ass hurts like hell, and he's leaking, enough that his legs are getting wet with it.

Rhys takes a slow step towards the pile of clothes next to them, already dreading having to bend down to get them, and then Jack stands as well, kind of very close to him.

Jack's arms come around him, and Rhys is too startled by the hug to do anything but blink in confusion. “Got something for you,” Jack whispers into his ear, and then his hands are on Rhys' lower back—

Rhys groans when his opening is stretched _again_ , by something thick and unyielding. He jolts against Jack, moans in protest. The plug sinks into him fully, and Jack slaps his ass, making him hiss.

When the alpha steps away from him his grin is showing far more teeth than necessary, and Rhys stares at him helplessly.

“I know, I know. I'm a genius,” he says cheerfully. “Should have thought about that way sooner, but I'm a busy man and have far too much work on my hands.” He gives Rhys a pointed look before directing it towards the door.

Okay, that's his signal. He's supposed to leave now. He _can_ finally leave now. He takes a wobbly step towards his clothes, desperately trying to keep his movements to a bare minimum. He bites his lip when he bends down to pick up his shirt and vest, unwilling to give Jack the satisfaction of the whine tickling at the back of his throat.

He shuffles awkwardly around the desk, studiously not looking at Jack. Rhys can't quite keep down the pitiful sound when he bends down again to pick up his shorts and trousers. The plug is _huge_ inside of him — does Jack honestly expect him to keep it in? And for how long?

Rhys rightens himself again, his clothes clutched protectively to his chest.

Jack is seated back in his chair, legs spread, head resting on his steepled fingers. “Thoroughly fucked is a very good look on you, and you should definitely wear it more often,” he tells Rhys sweetly, voice hiding a chuckle. Then he stretches his arms out in front of himself, wincing slightly. “Get dressed, get out. I don't care in which order.” And just like that he looks back at the screen in front of him.

Rhys stares at him, wide-eyed. Usually he's allowed to catch a quick shower in the adjacent bathroom before he's send away. He looks down at himself, swallows. He doesn't need a lot of imagination to visualise what he must look like right now, hair a mess, eyes red, dark bruises on his neck and upper body. He shrugs awkwardly into his shirt, the rest of his clothes wedged between his legs.

Jack's typing again, concentrating fully on his work.

He buttons up his shirt with shaking fingers, feeling himself drop, far sooner and far stronger than he usually does.

The plug shifts with every moment, and there's no way he won't walk weirdly, no way that anyone will look at him, _smell_ him, and not be able to tell.

But— but anyone who takes a whiff of him will also be able to pick up Handsome Jack's scent on him, and Jack must be aware of that.

He shrugs into his vest, not even bothering with his tie, letting it hang loosely around his neck.

Jack never told him to keep their... meetings a secret, but what with the shower after and Handsome Jack being Handsome Jack... Rhys just sort of expected he was supposed to keep quiet about it. Barring his best friends, of course. 

Getting into his shorts and trousers has never taken this long, and was never this difficult before, and he grits his teeth. The confines of his shorts against his sensitive cock is pure torture, and he honestly considers just going without them, leaving them in an unobtrusive corner in Handsome Jack's office. He slips into his shoes again, only then noticing his missing sock. He spots it lying underneath the chair in front of the desk, and bitterly decides to leave it there, _his_ mark — if not on Jack himself, then at least on his office. He shivers, fully dressed but freezing.

No, he's really not feeling very well, and Jack is acting like Rhys is already gone. He doesn't care if anyone knows that he fucked Rhys, that Vasquez saw them. He probably doesn't care about Rhys _at all_.

He pinches himself with the strong fingers of his right hand, desperately trying to keep himself together, at least until he's out of Jack's office. He can figure out the rest then. Turning away from the disinterested alpha makes his chest ache, and the first step down the stairs nearly makes his knees buckle. He feels bloated and used and _awful_ , and he doesn't know how he manages to descend the steps without crumbling into a sobbing mess but somehow he does.

The typing stops. “You are taking pills for your heat, right?”

He almost welcomes the panic that washes through him at Jack's casual question, but then he inhales deeply, calming himself. Pills. For the heat. Not the other ones Jack can't ever know about. “Yeah, I do.” His voice sounds timid and rough, and he coughs into his fist. “What about it?”

Jack takes a long moment to answer, frowning at whatever he's working on. He waves a dismissive hand at Rhys, still not even glancing at him. “Stop taking them, I want to have you during a heat.” He growls, adds in a grumble, “Maybe then your body will finally know what it's supposed to do.”

At least the alpha wants to see him again, isn't discarding him for good. That sounds pathetic and needy even in his own head, and so he makes himself nod, forces out a small, “Okay.”

“Good, good,” Jack says absently. “Put your feet up, eat something healthy and leave the plug in until you can't take it anymore.” He starts typing again, a clear dismissal.

Rhys stares at his feet until he's already well out of Jack's office, doesn't look at the secretary or the guards he walks past outside. All he has to do is breathe, take one step after the other, and not cry. He can totally do that.

He walks until he's out of sight of the cameras, leans against a wall. He's shivering badly, his clothes almost painful on his skin. Rhys activates his ECHO eye, and Vaughn's voice answers in the next second. “You are still alive!” he says cheerfully, and Rhys relaxes against the wall. He stiffens again instantly with a wince when the plug shifts inside of him. “Can you come and get me?” he asks quietly, voice small.

The answer is gratifyingly quick. “On my way, bro.”

A beat.

“Um, where are you?”

Rhys inhales deeply, managing something like a small smile. He's going to be okay. He always is.

* * *

He kind of... loses himself a bit after that, staring at the blank wall in front of him until his eyes hurt, studiously not thinking and definitely not crying, just in case anyone walks past him.

When Vaughn finally appears at his side, the relief he feels is so strong it almost takes him down to his knees. Vaughn takes in Rhys' dishevelled appearance without a comment, allowing Rhys to lean heavily against him.

They start their slow, painful shuffle back to their apartment, and Vaughn growls at anyone who stares at them for too long, because he's the best bro in the entire universe.

“You are the best bro in the entire universe,” Rhys mumbles into Vaughn's hair, leaning even more heavily on his friend.

Vaughn pats his left arm. “I know, Rhys. You're doing good, just keep walking.”

Rhys hugs him close, making them both stumble. “You won't leave me, right?” His breath hitches a bit just thinking about it.

“I'm not leaving you, Rhys,” Vaughn says earnestly. Then he grunts, gets them moving again. “Honestly, I'm beginning to think Handsome Jack actually never bedded an omega before. Maybe he just doesn't know about the drop you go through, after. I mean, nobody can be this negligent on purpose, right?”

Rhys sniffs loudly. He really doesn't want to think about Jack anymore. He tightens his arms around Vaughn, pressing his cheek against his hair. “You won't leave me, right?”

Vaughn sighs, gently butting a fist against his side. “I'm not leaving you, Rhys. We're almost there, just hang on.”

Once inside their familiar rooms, Rhys hits rock bottom. Vaughn is gentle while he helps him undress, even gentler when he unhooks Rhys' right arm. He's trembling again when Vaughn leads him into the bathroom, directs him to sit in the tub. And if Rhys cries under the stream of the shower, he doesn't even mention it, just keeps on talking about his day and touching Rhys carefully, as if he's made out of something very fragile and valuable.

Like he said: Best bro in the universe.

His hair is a wet mess, but he still bumps his head against Vaughn's clothed chest. “You are the best bro in the entire universe,” Rhys tells him solemnly, because it's really important that Vaughn knows that.

“Don't I know it.” Vaughn shrugs out of his drenched shirt, looks at Rhys seriously. “You feeling relaxed enough that we can take it out now?” 

Rhys sighs. He raises onto his knees, bites his lip and Vaughn help him get the plug out with careful fingers.

Still, it hurts, and Rhys hisses. Once free of it, he kicks the stupid thing away to the other end of the bathtub.

Vaughn's frowning, nodding towards the plug. “That's certainly new. Did he say anything about it?”

“I'm supposed to leave it in and put my legs up.” Jack's come is leaking out of him, and he squirms, relieved the pressure is lessening but also agitated about disobeying the alpha's instructions.

Vaughn hands him the shower head, snorts. “Yeah, well, too bad he thinks he's too high and mighty to take proper care of you.”

Rhys feels his face crumble, his breath hitching tellingly. Vaughn is right, and doesn't that just prove that Jack doesn't care about him at all?

Vaughn strokes over his hair, saying quickly, “It's good that he isn't here, because I'd totally kick his ass if he was!” He raises his fist, shaking it at the plug and scowling menacingly, as if he's facing down Handsome Jack himself.

He smiles wanly, hiccuping. “He'll never see it coming.”

Vaughn preens, adjusts his glasses. “Don't mess with an accountant's best friend. We're numerous and vindictive.” He helps Rhys stand up on shaky legs, pats him dry with the fluffiest towel they have.

Rhys feels a bit more like himself once he's lying on his bed, enjoying the cool air on his back. Even the touch of the comforter is too much against his cock, but he stays still, letting Vaughn tend to the marks on his shoulder blades. He lets out a long sigh. “Honestly, I don't think I'll ever be able to move again.”

Vaughn rubs salve onto the finger-shaped bruises on his hips carefully, but the contact is still enough to make Rhys hiss quietly. “Sorry, bro.” Vaughn moves up on the bed, gently urging him to turn over. He critically inspects Rhys' chest, whistles. “Damn, I can't really tell if he's trying to knock you up or trying to eat you alive?” 

Curious fingers prod at a particularly badly throbbing hickey on Rhys collarbone, and he whines, staring balefully up at Vaughn. “Dude, careful with the merchandise!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Vaughn says quickly before beginning to apply the salve on the bite marks littering Rhys' upper body. “I'm very grateful you are taking one for the team here. I don't think I'd make a very good chew toy.”

Rhys doesn't think he has the energy to laugh right now, but he smiles, enjoying the soothing touch and the calming presence at his side. He knows exactly when Vaughn spots the hickeys closest to his neck tattoo, because Vaughn inhales sharply. Rhys is also very sure he knows exactly what Vaughn's thinking right now: They really need to have a talk about bonding. 

But they also need to wait until Yvette joins them, and the silence that follows is far too tense for Rhys' nerves. He pats Vaughn's bare chest as if nothing happened. “He'd probably break his teeth on your steel abs.”

Vaughn chuckles awkwardly, looks down at himself. He nods thoughtfully. “Maybe I should write a self-help book about that.” He grins at Rhys, making air quotes when he says, “Abs Against alphas.”

Rhys snorts, huffing out a quiet laugh. He thinks for a moment, while Vaughn carefully rubs the salve on his bruised neck. “Oh! What about: Abs of Steel vs. Handsome Jack — The Reckoning.”

They both giggle at that, and Rhys barely even notices when his eyelids fall shut.

Vaughn slaps his side, mindful of the bruises there but still with enough force to make Rhys growl. “Hey, no sleeping yet. You know we have to wait for Yvette and the Magic Pills.”

Rhys pouts, staring darkly at Vaughn. He probably fails spectacularly at looking menacing, because Vaughn only chuckles. He leans back against the headboard, denim-clad leg stretched out against Rhys' arm. “Want to tell me about Vasquez walking in on you?” he asks suddenly, grinning widely.

Rhys blinks. Then he groans loudly, tempted to cover his face with his hand if it wouldn't mean sacrificing the calming contact. “Not really, no.” Shit, he almost managed to forget about that.

Vaughn laughs, sounding almost delighted. “Oh man, so it's true? I was sure he was talking out of his ass again!”

Scowling, Rhys turns his head until his forehead is resting against Vaughn's thigh. “He didn't 'walk in on us'. He had... something urgent to report to Jack and Jack let him in.” It probably was something urgent, right?

Vaughn's eyes widen. “Jack just let him in? While he was still...” He pauses, laughs disbelievingly. “While he was still fucking you?”

Rhys bites is lip, whispers mulishly, “He was still knotting me.”

“Wow.” Vaughn exhales loudly, his back hitting the headboard with a thud.

“There was nothing to see, okay? I had my back to Vasquez, and the desk was between us anyway,” Rhys says quietly. Still, he feels himself flush at the memory of Jack's knot still inside of him, somebody seeing him so defenceless. Jack's palm curling around his throat, a sign of ownership stronger than any of the countless marks he so enjoys decorating Rhys' skin with. His cock twitches at the memory, and Rhys hisses, cupping his hand around it, willing it to _calm down_.

Vaughn nudges his side. “You okay, bro?”

Rhys grimaces. His cock feels almost hot against his palm. “Hurts like hell.” Stupid alphas, stupid Jack, and his ridiculous, drug-induced stamina.

Vaughn leans forward, taking Rhys' hand away. “Looks pretty swollen.” He frowns, and Rhys follows his gaze reluctantly. 

As always, to Rhys his cock mostly looks awfully disproportional to the rest of his body, and he stares at his small, red cock accusingly.

“I'm going to get you something to cool it,” Vaughn says, concern evident at the downwards turned corners of his mouth.

He stands, and Rhys turns his head to follow him with his eyes. “You are my hero!” he calls after Vaughn's retreating back.

“I bet you say that to every beta who's nice to you!” comes the prompt reply from the bathroom, and Rhys smiles, stretching out on the bed. He feels tired, sated and... almost content with every flare of pain from the various marks Jack left on him. 

He doesn't remember closing his eyes or dozing off, and the next thing he knows is something cold and wet landing on his cock. Rhys shrieks, eyes snapping open, his hand instinctively moving down.

“No sleeping,” Vaughn says seriously, waving an admonishing finger at Rhys. The grin on his lips ruins the stern image pretty effectively.

Rhys scowls at him, but then he presses the washcloth on his sore cock and it's good, better than good — it feels _amazing_ , and he groans appreciatively.

Vaughn laughs, sitting back down next to Rhys. “Don't ever say I never do anything for you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Rhys grins, knocking his head playfully against Vaughn's side, and Vaughn lays a hand on the nape of his neck, a comforting weight.

An easy silence settles over them, and Rhys can feel himself dozing off again. He's just so _damn tired_.

“What's taking her so long? I contacted her right after you told me to come get you.” Vaughn adjusts his glasses, his legs moving restlessly.

Rhys makes a small sound of agreement. Then he remembers something, and he grins up at Vaughn. “Dude! Vasquez isn't an alpha. How amazing is that?”

Vaughn blinks at him, mouth opening and closing several times before he asks, “Seriously?”

“I know, right?” Rhys practically crows. “Jack told me. Apparently he practically drenches himself in alpha hormones regularly to hide it.”

“You've got to be kidding me!” Vaughn laughs loudly, shaking his head. “I never noticed anything. Wow.”

Rhys nods enthusiastically, now grinning wide enough that it's beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. “Also? His hair is as fake as Hyperion's pension plan.”

Vaughn stares at him with wide eyes. He's quiet for a minute, then he whispers, “You are blowing my freaking _mind_ here, bro. How am I supposed to decide on what I'll throw at his smug face first when he annoys me next time?”

They are still laughing hysterically when Yvette walks in, looking as severe as ever in her blouse and pencil skirt, _alpha_ obvious in every line of her body.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, one of her eyebrows raised while she waits for their giggles to die down. Yvette shakes her head at them, looking more fond than annoyed. 

“You are overdressed for this slumber party!” Rhys informs her happily, and Yvette huffs.

“You talk big for someone who looks like he lost a fight with a miniature Skag,” she counters easily, slipping out of her shoes. She leans against the door, unrolling the stockings covering her legs with practised ease, and her bare feet are silent on the carpet as she moves over to them. “Far be it from me to rain on your parade, boys, but I come bearing bad news.”

Rhys stops breathing, heart thudding wildly in his chest. Shit. Shit shit shit. They are out of pills and Yvette can't get her hands on new ones. Rhys' eyes widen, and he swallows. He'll get pregnant. He'll carry Jack's _baby_.

Yvette sits down on his other side, leaving her ear piece on the night table there and taking the glass of water from it. She offers it to Rhys, and between the fingers of her other hand— 

Between the fingers of her other hand is the very familiar, white pill.

Disappointment washes through Rhys, unpleasant and eerie. If he had any doubts before, he now knows that he's well and truly fucked. In more sense than one.

For one crazy second he thinks about refusing the pill, but the idea is gone in the next instant, and he opens his mouth obediently, letting Yvette place the pill on his tongue. He raises his head slightly, and the glass is pressed against his lips. He swallows without thinking about it, water and pill, and he feels _horrible_ this time.

Jack might not be perfect, but he's good to Rhys. He never showed anything but appreciation for Rhys' body and his cybernetics, something all of the betas and alphas Rhys bedded before usually had problems with sooner or later. Jack actually seems to want him just as he is: tattoos, missing limb, technological improvements, and admittedly questionable attitude. 

No, it's more than that. Jack actually wants for _Rhys to give him a child_. 

It's a pretty shitty moment for this to finally sink in. Because Rhys is only using him, and that probably makes him worse than even the lowest scum running around on Helios. 

He doesn't really notice when the glass leaves his lips again.

“Yvette,” Vaughn whines, “Don't _do_ that. I thought you couldn't get another one and that nearly gave me a heart attack!” There's a pause, then he adds, voice quiet, “I don't even want to know how Rhys must be feeling right now.”

He startles at the mention of his name, becoming acutely aware of the two sets of eyes focused entirely on him. Rhys doesn't know what he looks like right now, how much his desolate thoughts are written clearly on his face. He quickly tries to school his expression, but it's already too late.

One corner of Yvette's mouth curls upwards, but she looks apologetic, almost chagrined. “That opening sounded a lot less dramatic in my head,” she admits slowly, placing the glass back on the night table. “We got enough to last us a bit longer, a month at this pace, but my contact won't be able to smuggle in any more without raising some flags.”

Shit, if his friends only knew the real reason for his distress. He bites his bottom lip, wishing he could just vanish right through the mattress. Maybe the scientists are right after all, and omegas really are just too emotional for their own good. Rhys honestly thought he could let himself be fucked by Jack without getting attached, convinced that he could play the living legend like a pro and reap the benefits without any remorse. But even with his body well and truly used, left stinging and sore, he wants nothing more than to be with Jack even now.

Inside of his chest, his stupid, too large omega heart clenches. Who is he kidding? He wants to give Jack anything the alpha wants, everything he has to give. 

He's so _fucked_.

Fingers touch behind his ears carefully, and Rhys lets Yvette manoeuvre him until his head is resting on her lap, stump pressed into the bedding. He presses his cheek against the smooth material of her skirt, inhaling her familiar scent.

Yvette strokes over his throat in soothing circles and feels himself calm almost instantly, his eyes falling shut.

“You are doing so well, Rhys,” Yvette coos, and her words chase away the ugly feeling that has clawed into his chest. “We wouldn't have gotten this far without you.”

Rhys hums, hesitant but pleased, and the sharp edges of his thoughts soften. At least he's doing good by _this_ alpha, he thinks hazily.

On his other side, Vaughn laughs quietly, moving closer until he's stretched out against Rhys' naked back. “There you go, making me jealous again. I could never get him to relax this quickly.” He sounds mostly amused, but there's a small edge of hurt to it.

Rhys lets go of the washcloth, now mostly damp instead of cooling, and he reaches behind himself to pat Vaughn's leg.

Yvette chuckles. “Don't get all mopy again. You know we three work best as a team.”

“Damn right,” Rhys says quietly, rubbing his cheek against Yvette's skirt, hand resting on Vaughn's leg. He doesn't even know why he got so worked up before. He has Vaughn and Yvette, and everything is as it has always been. Perfect.

Manicured nails scratch slightly over his throat, skirting around the bruises there. “Just one little thing and you can rest, okay, Rhys?”

“Okay.” He slurs his answer a bit, safe and happy, lying between his best friends.

“You are such a good boy.” Yvette's fingers resume their stroking, and her praise fills him like warm honey. “How much longer do you think we can string Jack along before he loses his patience?”

Rhys frowns, worrying at the inside of his cheek. Right. Jack. The other alpha in his life. “Two weeks, tops,” he says after a moment, shivering with the memory of Jack's intensity, his desperation.

Yvette makes a thoughtful noise, and Vaughn rests his arm on Rhys' side. “That's way sooner than we expected,” he says quietly.

 _I was just thinking how nice you'll look. Legs going on for miles... Round with my kid._ Rhys shivers again, Jack's voice pushing through his calm like a sledgehammer. He shakes his head, amending, “Probably shorter. He might ask me to get tested again soon.” He inhales deeply and blinks his eyes open, looking up at Yvette's face above him. “I know you said he wasn't the bonding type, but I think—“ He swallows, forces the words out in a rush, “I think he might ask me to bond with him.” 

And I don't think I'll be able to deny him, he adds silently to himself.

Yvette's expression turns distant, and he whines, hiding his face in her skirt again. She's always right, he shouldn't have questioned her judgement, he's such an ungrateful omega and he doesn't deserve _anything_.

Both Vaughn and Yvette shush him, petting him gently until he relaxes again.

“I agree with him,” Vaughn says after a bit, poking at one of the hickeys on Rhys' neck.

Rhys twitches, feeling it flare up again.

“Look at this, Yvette. Honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't bonded with Rhys already. It's like he's barely reining in his instincts anymore.”

Yvette inhales loudly, obviously prepared to say something to that, but Vaughn stops her with a raised hand. “I know, I know. The educated alpha of today asks before initiating a bond, but this is Handsome Jack we're talking about here. You either roll with what he throws your way or you get spaced.”

She's quiet for a moment, and then another finger pokes at the throbbing skin on his neck, and Rhys whines in protest, trying to shuffle away from the annoying prodding.

Vaughn tickles the back of his neck, voice low and soothing. “Sorry, bro.”

Rhys grumbles quietly, then says, “He wants for me to stop repressing my heats.”

After a long, tense moment, Yvette sighs, stroking through Rhys' hair. “I have very fond memories of your last heat.”

Vaughn chuckles. “I don't think anyone could ever forget that week.” He pats Rhys' hip, adjusts his glasses again. “I mean, there has always been some back and forth of mostly-harmless pranks between our companies, but that Mailwan would mess up an entire shipment of suppressants just to make us lose out on a deal with Jakobs...” 

Yvette grins, dragging hair nails over Rhys' scalp and making him hum. “Gave us an entire week of fun, and somehow we didn't even lose the deal in the end.”

For the first time, Rhys wonders what Jack was doing two years ago when Helios was basically turned into the backdrop of a huge orgy. Did the alpha stroll through his kingdom, taking his pick from willing bodies left and right? Would Rhys have met him then already, if he hadn't chosen to stay with Vaughn and Yvette? Or maybe Jack confined himself to his office, and was the sole reason Hyperion didn't lose the deal. Rhys' eyelids flutter, and he's so warm and comfortable, he feels himself slipping away again.

“You can rest now, you deserve it.” Yvette gently flicks his ear, assures him, “Vaughn and I will sort out the rest.”

And Rhys wants to, he really does. Nothing sounds more appealing than finally being allowed to close his eyes and rest. Maybe he won't feel so completely drained after a nap, physically and emotionally. He doesn't usually have any problems with his friends deciding on things — not because his suggestions suck, thank you very much. His plans just usually don't tend to work out like he's envisioned them.

But... there's Jack. Confusing, desperate, scary, fascinating and _more_ in every regard compared to those before him. Rhys already put this off for far too long, and look at where it got him.

He sighs warily, forcing his complaining body to turn around and up into a sitting position. He's mindful to stay close enough so that he's still touching both of them, palm curled around Yvette's left leg, one of his own pressed against Vaughn. It still feels weird to sit facing them, and he really wishes he was at least wearing his shorts right now.

They look at him, clearly surprised and maybe a bit suspicious, and Rhys really wants to rub the back of his neck. “Okay, I know that wasn't really in the cards before, but maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he really did bond with me?”

Vaughn sucks in a sharp breath, and Yvette frowns, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Rhys continues before they can get a word in edgewise. “Especially if we're really planning on bringing a baby into this.” He steels himself at that, staring at his friends defiantly. It sounded absurd at first, not even a real possibility that Jack would want a kid, much less want for Rhys to carry it.

It's all too easy to remember the three of them joking about it when they first cooked up this stupid plan of throwing Rhys at Jack to see what could be gained from it. With his ass and stomach weirdly empty, and the skin on his neck still tingling, it doesn't feel funny anymore. _Bereft_ , is the word that comes to his mind.

Vaughn adjusts his glasses again, nodding to himself as he says, “We can still get you out. Each one of us is in a more secure position now, and that's already more than we expected. You just need to cry a bit, make something up about being infertile but wanting to be with _the_ Handsome Jack so badly that you falsified the tests.” He turns to Yvette and Rhys bristles a bit at the disregard, even if Vaughn only means well.

Yvette closes her eyes, already shaking her head. “No, Rhys is right. Jack's already too invested in the idea of getting him pregnant.” She sighs, mutters angrily, “I should have anticipated that.” Before Rhys can even think about reassuring her, she opens her eyes again, looking at him with a hard gaze. “Just because Jack hasn't hurt you yet, doesn't mean he won't turn you into a Loader Bot punching bag if he even so much as _suspects_ you were playing him.”

Rhys swallows, and Vaughn swears under his breath, tearing at his hair. “Can we not talk about Rhys getting killed, please?”

“Yeah, I'm really not into that,” Rhys says earnestly, trying to lighten the mood.

Vaughn's head snaps around to him again, as if that was just the signal he was waiting for. “But you're into him bonding with you? Handsome Jack probably has the blood of more people on his hands before breakfast than you'll even see during the entire day!” He leans forward, his hands curled into fists in his lap, almost pleading with Rhys now. “You can't tell me you're okay with being bonded to the scariest man in the known galaxies.”

Rhys averts Vaughn's gaze, staring down at an undefined spot between his best friends. “I—“ He falters, and his fingers flex restlessly on Yvette's leg. “Jack is—“

Scary when he's in a bad mood. Addictive like a drug when he focuses his attention on you. Bruising and rough, but he knows Rhys can take it, _revels_ in it. He's mercurial like a solar storm, unpredictable even to the smartest minds on Helios. Always respectful of Rhys' body, even when he seems too far gone already for rational thought. Unbelievably tender when Rhys needs him to be. 

He's a force of nature and Rhys was lost right from the very beginning.

Rhys stomach churns with the realisation, and he tries again, desperate, wanting for his friends to understand. “Jack is—“

Yvette's hands curl around his, and she smiles — somewhat pained — when he meets her eyes. “I'm going to take a closer look at the consequences of a bonding. If I remember correctly, a recent study determined that the connection goes both ways.” She squeezes his hand, shrugging with one shoulder. “Who knows, maybe you'll have a calming influence on him.”

Vaughn stares at the both of them, mouth open. Then he groans, leaning forward and resting his head on Rhys' shoulder. “Are we really not going to talk about Rhys getting knocked up by Handsome Fucking Jack?” He doesn't even wait for a reply before he continues, “I guess not! Rhys is going to carry Handsome Jack's baby, and— shit, that totally makes me the uncle of the demon spawn, doesn't it?”

Rhys and Yvette look at each other for a moment, and then they laugh, prompting Vaughn to sniff loudly. “Fine, laugh my perfectly valid concerns away. Just don't think I won't tell you later that I _absolutely told you so_!”

“You're still my favourite alpha,” Rhys says quietly, thumb stroking over the back of Yvette's hand.

She smiles, presses a kiss on his forehead. “And you better keep it that way.”

Vaughn's arms come around him, hugging Rhys close. “Hey, I need some love as well. Tell me that I'm going to be your favourite beta forever.”

Rhys rests his cheek on Vaughn's hair, a content smile on his lips. “You are going to be my favourite beta forever, bro,” he swears solemnly.

Vaughn sighs, still miffed but apparently appeased. “Awesome.”

* * *

After that, Rhys doesn't take any more pills for a very long time.


End file.
